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ELSIE 


AND     OTHER     POEMS 


BY 

ROBERT    BEVERLY    HALE 


BOSTON 

R.   B.   HALE    &    CO. 

3    HAMILTON    PLACE 
1893 


Copyright,  1893, 
By     R.    B.    hale. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


TO 

MRS.  A.  D.  W., 

FOR   WHOSE 

SYMPATHETIC   APPRECIATION 

NO   ONE 

EVER   HOPED  IN   VAIN, 

THIS   BOOK   IS   DEDICATED. 


M191949 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Elsie, 9 

Solo  and  Symphony,        .         .         .         .         •         .II 

Two  Sermons,  ...  ...     13 

Friendship,        ......••     I? 

The  Little  Lame  Boy  at  the  Window,  .         .     23 

Truth, 25 

To  My  Little  Girl, 26 

Sunrise,     .........     28 

Elsie  Abroad,  . 3° 

A  Birthday  Present  to  an  Old    Friend,  .  .     31 

Mother's  Love,  .         .         .         .         .         .         .32 

Two  Visitors,  33 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Mary, 36 

When  Elsie  Sings,  ......     38 

"  Be  Ye  therefore  Perfect," 40 

My  Sister  Eleanor,  ......     43 

To  H.  B.  W.,  .         .         .         .         .         .         .44 

Music,       .         . 46 

A  Venetian  Wallflower,  .         .         .         .         -47 

To  Her  whom  I  Love,  51 

Mother, 52 

An  Old  Story, 55 

The  Mirror  of  a  Soul, 56 

Night, 57 

The    Man    who    Hesitates  is    Lost,         .         .         -58 

My  Ambush, 60 

To  One  who  Thinks  she  Loves  me  Not,  .  .  62 
Express  and  Accommodation,  .  .  .  -64 
To  an  Unnoticed  Lady,  .         .         .         .         .68 


CONTENTS. 


Engaged, 

.     70 

Waiting, 

.     72 

Elsie  and  the  Ocean, 

-     1Z 

After  the  First  Snow,      . 

.         .         .     76 

A  Resolution,           .... 

•   n 

Phillips  Brooks,        .... 

.      .      .   79 

A  Clerk  in  a  Bank, 

.   81 

My  Fellow-Traveller, 

.      .      .   83 

Elsie's  Father,          .... 

.     88 

Sunset  across  the  Ice,       .         .       •  . 

.     91 

To  Margaret,            .... 

.     92 

The  Young  Mother, 

.         .         .     95 

A  Plain  Working  Man's  Idea  of  Hea 

ven,     .         .   102 

ELSIE. 

There  she  goes  beneath  the  trees 
In  her  wide-brimmed  summer  hat 

And  the  butterflies  and  bees 

Wonder  what  she's  laughing  at. 

On  her  dress  the  sun  and  shade 
Play  at  restless  hide  and  seek, 

And  the  blushes  glow  and  fade 
On  her  tempting  little  cheek. 

Listen  !     Who  was  that  she  heard 
Calling  from  across  the  lawn  ? 

Off  she  flutters  like  a  bird : 
In  an  instant  she  is  gone. 


10  ELSIE  AND    OTHER   POEMS. 


O'er  my  sense  she's  cast  a  spell. 

Like  a  prisoner  I  seem, 
In  some  gloomy  dungeon  cell, 

When  he  sees  a  stray  sunbeam 

Through  the  grating  make  its  way, 
Play  about  upon  the  wall, 

Disappear.     Like  him  I  say  : 
Yes,  God  is  good  after  all ! 


SOLO    AND    SYMPHONY. 

The    hall    is    hushed.     Beneath    his    skilful    fin- 
gers 
The  violoncello  trembles — makes  a  pause  ; 
The     tune      grows      boisterous — softens — barely 
lingers, 
Then  dies  away  in  torrents  of  applause. 

He     bows     and     smiles,      and     sinks     into     the 
chorus. 
His     part     is     done — we    think    of    him    no 
more  ; 
But  as  the  glorious  symphony  steals  o'er  us 
We    all    forget    what    seemed    so    sweet    be- 
fore. 


12  ELSIE   AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

So  I   have  stood  before  a  world  admiring, 

Doing  great  deeds    as    though    they    were  of 
course ; 
Envy  or  love,  wonder,  at  least,  inspiring  ; 

A     dumb    world    marvelling    at    my    tours   de 
force  ; 

And  now  once  more  I  sink  into  the  chorus. 

What  matter  if  my  solo  be  forgot  ? 
This  symphony  forever  sweeping  o'er  us 

Is  grander  far  than  solos,  is  it  not  ? 

Hark,  how  we  play  !      Let  no  man  fail  his  fellow  ! 

Never  one  jar  of  instruments  at  strife  ! 
Nor  one  false  note  from  my  unheeded  'cello 

To  mar  the  splendid  symphony  of  life  ! 


^    TWO    SERMONS. 

While  the  minister  is  preaching 
(Very  learned  talk,  no  doubt), 

And  the  flock  that  he  is  teaching 
Wonder  what  it's  all  about, 

My  strained  senses  slowly  wander 
To  the  earth  from  things  divine, 

To  the  little  maiden  yonder 
In  the  pew  in  front  of  mine. 

On  her  father's  kindly  shoulder 

Rests  her  head  of  gold-brown  hair. 


14  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

And  his  loving  fingers  hold  her 
Close,  at  peace,  contented  there. 

Now  she  leaves  him  for  the  present, 
Looking  up  with  tired  zest  ; 

Then  repents,  and,  oh,  the  pleasant 
Thrill  of  sinking  back  to  rest ! 

Now  a  while  at   peace  she  lingers, 
After  some  soft  reprimand. 

While  her  slender  little  fingers 

Clasp  her  father's  great  brown  hand. 

Now  her  little  hand  unravels 

From  her  eyes  a  golden  skein  ; 

Then,  grown  tired  of  its  travels, 
Finds  its  way  to  his  again. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  15 

Now  she  glances  round,  and  rather 
Wonders  what  I'm  staring  at : 

Well,  if  she  does  love  her  father, 
What  is  there  so  strange  in  that  ? 

Dear  old  pastor,  stanch  and  firm  on 
Doctrines  sound  as  man  can  teach, 

Here's  another  kind  of  sermon, 
Better  far  than  you  can  preach. 

Dear  old  soul,  who  lay  such  stress  on 

Keeping  sternly  undefiled. 
When  you  feel  you  need  a  lesson, 

Take  it  from  some  little  child. 

You  were  steadfastly  beseeching 
Me  to  seek  the  narrow  way  ; 


1 6  ELSIE   AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

But  it  wasn't  all  your  preaching 
That  has  helped  me  so  to-day, 

For  a  little  girl  was  teaching 
All  the  things  you   didn't  say. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


AUGUST. 


Knee-deep  among  wild  carrots  and  long   grass, 
Looking  across  the  meadow  at  the  woods, 
I  stood,  at  peace  ;    for  it  was  such  a  day. 
So  sweet,  that  avarice  and  shame  and  fear 
Forsook  my  heart,  and  only  love  was  left. 
And  all  the  trees  were  strangely  beautiful  : 
Dark  foliage  hid  the  grim  oak's  twisted  boughs, 
His  robe  of  state — the  stern  old  forest  king ; 
The  modest  maple  with  compliant  grace 
Waved  her  fresh  leaves,  obedient  to  the  wind  ; 
And  not  far  off  I   saw  the  slim  white  birch, 
A  sylph  by  day — by  night  she  seems  a  ghost. 

2 


1 8  ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

Only  the  evergreens  were  dull  of  hue  : 
I  scarcely  should  have  known  them  but  for  that 
For  they  were  neither  graceful,  bright,  nor  gay, 
But  seemed  like  servants  in  a  hall  of  state, 
Forgot  amid  the  court's  magnificence. 


NOVEMBER. 

The  same  !     No,  no  !     It  cannot  be  the  same  ! 
This  barren  field,  with  brown,  half-frozen  turf  ! 
Alas,  how  quickly  beauty  takes  her  flight  ! 
One   wave    of    those    bright    wings,    and    she    is 

gone, 
And  desolation  grimly  takes  her  place. 
See    those    poor    trees — or    are    they    ghosts    of 

trees  ? — 
Waving  weird  arms,  and  casting  leaves  abroad  ; 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  1 9 

A  few  brown  leaves,  the  wreck  of  summer  time. 
Only  the  evergreens,  in  verdant  robes, 
Shine  out  against  the  faded  mass  of  brown. 
The  stubborn  pine-tree  rears  itself  on  high, 
Scorning  the  efforts  of  the  foolish  wind. 
The  melancholy  hemlock  waves  its  plumes, 
And  thrills  all  over  with  a  sad  unrest. 
Ah,  now  we  know  how  beautiful  they  are  ! 
With  head  erect  and  uniform  of  green, 
They  seem  like  soldiers  in  a  motley  crowd. 


PROSPERITY. 

Once  on  a  time,  when  Fortune  smiled  on  me, 
I  sat  and  thought  on  my  prosperity. 
What  have  I  done,  to  merit  such  reward  ? 
For  I  have  riches  more  than  I  can  use. 


20  ELSIE   AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

And  health,  without  which  wealth  were  mockery, 
And  more  than  all,  I  have  a  host  of  friends 
Who  love  me  well,  nor  scorn  to  show  their  love 
By  countless  little  acts  and  pleasant  words, 
And  kindly  offerings  of  sweet  courtesy. 
Only  a  few  old  friends,  of  sober  looks, 
Make  little  protestation  of  regard  ; 
I  scarce  should  think  upon  them  but  for  that ; 
For  they  are  neither  wise  nor  bright  nor  gay  ; 
They  seem  like  veterans  of  an  army  corps, 
Sure  of  themselves,  but  jealous  of  the  rest. 


ADVERSITY. 

Adversity  has  come  to  dwell  with  me; 
Adversity,  the  triumph  of  our  foes  ; 
Adversity,  the  touchstone  of  our  friends. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  21 

Deep  have  I  sunk  in  unconcealed  disgrace  ; 
Lost    is    my    strength,    my    boasted    health     is 

fled; 
Riches  have  used  their  wings  and   flown  away, 
And  with  them  those  I  used  to  call  my  friends. 
What  have  I  done  to  merit  such  reward  ? 
How  can  I  dare  to  trust  in  anything, 
When  those  who  seemed  so  true  have  proved  so 

false  ? 
Only  a  few  old  friends  have  not  forgot 
The  days  of  old,  when  I  was  true  to  them, 
And  now  they  take    my  part  against  the  world. 
What  do  they  care  for  danger  or  disgrace? 
They  seem  like  veterans  of  an  army  corps  : 
The  raw  recruits  have  left  them  to  their  fate  ; 
But  they  have  rallied  round  the  flag   they  love, 
And  woe  betide  the  foe  that  ventures  near  ! 


22  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

O  Friendship,  dearest  gift  of  God  to  man, 
We  cannot  know  thee  in  prosperity  ! 
Then  welcome  danger  !      Blessed  be  disgrace  ! 
For  in  the  awful  blackness  that  they  bring, 
True    friends    shine     out    like    stars    in    winter 

nights, 
And  make  the  very  darkness  beautiful. 


THE    LITTLE    LAME    BOY    AT    THE 
WINDOW. 

Here  from  my  chair  I  see  them  go, 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  great,  the  small, 

Under  my  window  :  they  don't  know 
A  little  watchman  sees  them  all. 

These  two  are  looking  :  aren't  they  queer  ? 
They — How  do  you  do  ? — I  guess  they  say 

They  wonder  why  I  stay  in  here 
Instead  of  running  out  to  play. 

My  two  big  brothers  and  the  rest 
Are  playing  there  beyond  the   wall  : 

My  brother  Jack  can  play  the  best  ; 
You  ought  to  see  him   curve  the  ball  ! 


24  ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS, 

And   when   he   makes  a  splendid  play, 
And  I  can  help  them  raise  a  cheer, 

My   pains  and   troubles   go   away, 
And  I  forget  what   keeps  me   here. 

If  I  could  just  be  well  one  day, 

And  go  out  too,  it  would  be  fine. 
Well — I  can  see  the  others  play, 

And   take   their   fun   instead  of  mine. 
I  watch  them  here  from  up  above  ; 

You   see   it's  almost  just  the   same, 
I   love  them   so  ;  and   I  can  love 

As  well  as  if  I  wasn't  lame. 


TRUTH. 

There  is  no  life's  companion  like  the  Truth. 
Bind  it  with  close-forged  fetters  to  thy  side, 
And  guard  it  like  the  apple  of  thine  eye, 
Else  it  will  flee  away  ;  and  men  will  say, 
"  Aye,  so  he  says,  but  we  believe  him  not." 
Then  wilt  thou  call  for  Truth  to  come  again  : 
"  Ah,  Truth,  sweet  Truth,  I  know  thy  worth  at 

last  ! 
Come  back  again  !  "      And  then  Truth  will    not 

come. 


TO    MY    LITTLE    GIRL. 

Close  to  earth  the  sun  is  burning  ; 

Weary  ploughmen  leave  the  plough  ; 
Homeward  through  the  fields  returning, 

All  their  work  is  ended  now. 
Hear  the  cattle  gently  lowing  ; 

Hear  the  bleating  of  the  sheep  ; 
All  the  world  to  rest  is  going — 
Sleep,  my  little  darling,  sleep  ! 

Fishermen  upon  the  ocean 

Turn  their  eager  bows  toward  home  ; 
On   they  come,  with  rushing  motion. 

Ploughing  through  the  surging  foam. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  27 

Hark,  they  sing  with  pleasure  after 
Weary  toils  on  waters  deep  ! 

Do  not  heed  their  shouts  and  laughter- 
Sleep,  my  little  darling,  sleep  !  \ 

Off  into  the  sea  of  slumbers 

Sails  my  darling  little  one, 
While  I  sing  in  peaceful   numbers 

Till  the  dying  day  is  done. 
While  my  loving  arms  still  hold  her. 

Evening  shadows  o'er  us  creep  ; 
Soft  her  head  sinks  on  my  shoulder — 

Sleep,  my  little  darling,  sleep  ! 


SUNRISE. 

While  the  poor  stars  are  dying  one  by  one, 
And  light  is  creeping  over  hill  and  dale, 
And    all    the    eastern     clouds,    saddened    and 
pale, 

Blush  with  delight  to  see  the  laughing  sun, 

Across     the    world    my    loving     thoughts    have 
run, 
To  one  who  sits  beneath  a  drooping  sail, 
And  sadly  sees  the  gloomy  daylight  fail : 

His  day  is  ended  now,   and  mine  begun. 

While  we  see  wealth  and  happiness  increase, 
Others    there    are    whose    sickly    hopes    fall 
dead, 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  2g 

Whose    honors    leave    them    otherwhere    to 

go- 

Oh,  may  their  weary  sun  sink  down  in  peace  ! 
Not  streaking  all  the  sky  with  angry  red  ; 
But  calmly,  with  a  quiet  afterglow. 


ELSIE    ABROAD. 

My  own  dear  child,  while  far  away  you  roam, 
Beyond  the  restless  blue  Atlantic  swell, 

Sweet  memories  still  linger  on  at  home. 

And  make  us  love  you  more  than  we  can  tell. 

Thoughts  of  your  honest  eyes  and  soft  dark  hair, 
Your  lips,  that  never  say  what  is  not  meant, 

Your  smile,  that  carries  sunshine  everywhere, 
Your  life,  so  loving  and  so  innocent. 

All  these  we  treasure  while,  perhaps,  far  hence, 
You  dream  of  us  beneath  some  distant  star  ; 

But,  lest  we  should  forget  an  excellence, 

Come  home  and  show  us  what  you  really  are  ! 


A  BIRTHDAY    PRESENT    TO    AN   OLD 
FRIEND. 

The  loving  reverence  of  your  friends, 
That  is  your  greatest  gift  to-day  ; 
Reverence  that  never  fades  away, 

Love  that  begins  but  never  ends. 

Aye,  though  the  gorgeous  sunset  lends 
Its  aid  to  make  your  birthday  gay, 

The  loving  reverence  of  your  friends, 
That   is  your   greatest   gift   to-day. 

Dear   friend,    whatever  fate   God   sends. 
If   fortune   smile,   or   hopes   betray. 
Take   this   for   comfort   on   your  way : 
With   every  joy   and   sorrow  blends 
The  loving   reverence   of  your   friends. 


MOTHER'S    LOVE. 

A  mother's  love,    unselfish,  pure,  and  deep, 
Prompting   sweet    prayers    for   me,   that    I    may 

keep 
Far  from  all  evil  ;    when  I  stumble,  fall. 
And    sin    once   more,  she    loves    me    through    it 

all. 
Her    smiles,    her    tears    are    mine,    whiche'er    I 

will  ; 
I  leave  her  home,  her    heart  is  with  me  still  ; 
And  when  she  sleeps,  for  angels  cannot  die, 
Her  love  lives  on   for  all  eternity. 


TWO    VISITORS. 

Last  night,  as  I  was  dreaming  of  my  wrongs, 

I  saw  two  figures  standing  by  my  bed  ; 

Cruel  Revenge,  with  lofty  countenance 

Trying  to  make  me  think  him  Honor's  twin  ; 

The  other — when  I  looked  upon  his  face 

I    thought    that    Heaven    had    come    down    to 

earth, 

And  knew  that  sweet  Forgiveness  was  his  name. 

And  now   Revenge's  spirit-stirring  tones 

Thrilled  through  my  senses,  as  he  cried  aloud  : 

"  Come,  take  me  in,  and  let  me  dwell  with  thee ! 

For  I  can  fill  thee  with  a  godlike  rage, 

And    give    thee    strength    and    fearlessness    and 

craft, 
3 


34  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

So  that  no  bolt  nor  bar  can  interpose 

To  save  him.     Thou    shalt    pay  him  wrong    for 

wrong  !  " 
And  then  Forgiveness  knelt  beside  my  bed, 
Imploring  me — and  never  have  I  heard 
A  tone  so  tender  or  a  voice  so  sweet, 
Clear  as  the  holy  bells  of  Paradise  : 
"  I,    too,    can    give    thee    strength    and    fearless- 
ness. 
And  innocence,  more  wise  than  wisest  craft. 
Revenge  can  make  thee  hurt  thine  enemy  ; 
But  I  can  give  thee  back  thy  friend  again. 
Oh,  take  me  in,  and  let  me  dwell  with  thee  ! 
Weary  am  I,  for  none  will  shelter  me  ; 
And  when  I  kneel  and  beg  for  harborage. 
They  strike   me  down  and    leave  me   there  half 
dead. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  35 

They  do    not    slay    me    quite  ;    perchance    they 

feel 
That  they  may  need  me  on  the  Judgment  Day." 

Sweet    friend,    alas  !    you    knew    not    what    you 

did  ; 
And  I  was  not  without  some  share  of  blame. 
Let  bygones   be  as  though   they  had  not  been  ; 
Let*  sad-eyed  Memory  erase  a  page  ; 
You  are  my  best,  my  dearest  friend,  and  I 
Forgive  you — as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven. 


MARY. 

Her  rich  dark  hair  flows  back  in  waving  lines, 
Leaving  no  shadow  on  that  faultless  brow  ; 

Her  face,  her  form,  her  everything  combines 
To  make  her  pure  ; — I  almost  see  her  now  ! 

She  is  a  queen.     No  matter  when  or  where ; 

She  may  be  at  her  best  or  at  her  worst  ; 
There  may  be  hosts  of  other  women  there  ; 

They  may  be  fairer — she  is  still  the  first. 

She  is  not  gay,  but  full  of  serious  grace ; 

Seldom  her  mouth  relents  into  a  smile  ; 
But  when  a  light  does  break  on  that  grave  face, 

Dark  earth  seems  Heaven  for  a  little  while. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  37 

She  cannot  compliment  her  friends  above 
The  truth  ;  she  has  no  smooth  society  lies  ; 

She  has  not  very  many  friends  to  love, 

But  when  she  loves,  she  loves  until  she  dies, 

She  has  her  faults  ;  she  can  be  proud  and 
strange  ; 

And  she  must  have  her  way,  whate'er  befall ; 
And  yet  I  should  not  like  to  see  her  change  : 

I  want  her  what  she  is,  her  faults  and  all. 


WHEN    ELSIE    SINGS. 

When  Elsie  sings,  her  notes  surprise 
Tlie  angels  floating  through  the  skies  ; 

And  gathering  round  with  wondering  gaze, 
They  marvel  at  these  earthly  lays, 
Tempting  them  down  from  Paradise. 

It  calls  before  my  half-closed  eyes 
Faint  and  fast-fading  memories 
Of  old  and  half-forgotten  days 
When  Elsie  sings. 

Thought  after  thought  takes  wing  and  flies, 
Called  by  those  soft,  strong  melodies. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  39 

She  sings — and  off  go  time  and  space; 
Self  is  forgot  ;    and   in  its  place 
Fair  dreams  of  truth  and  love  arise 
When  Elsie  sings. 


"BE   YE    THEREFORE    PERFECT." 

The    morning  sun    came  streaming   through  the 

blinds, 
And    lighted    up    long    pathways     through     the 

room, 
And  danced  and  played  upon    the  nursery  wall. 
A  little  child  was  sitting  up  in  bed, 
Reading.     It  was  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
"  Perfect  ? "    he    thought.      "  Why,   no    one    has 

been  that — 
Not  one  ;  and  I  shall  be  the  very  first.'" 

And  twenty  years  went  by.     The  noonday  sun 
Was  beating  down  on  the  deserted  streets. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  4 1 

Within  the  church  the  rustling  of  the  fans 
Seemed    half    to    drown    the    preacher's  droning 

voice. 
A  young  man  sat  and  pondered  on  the  text  : 
"  So  :    *  Be    ye    therefore     perfect.'      And    why 

not  ? " 

And  twenty  years  went  by.     The  summer  sun, 
Piercing  the  elm-trees'  lofty  foliage, 
Which  swayed  in  the  soft  breath  of  afternoon, 
Made  varying  patchwork  on  the  velvet  grass. 
A  man  was  sitting  with  a  little  child, 
Reading.     It  was  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
He  stopped.     "  *  Be  perfect  ! '     Father,  what  am 

I? 
And     yet,     if     Thou     wilt     grant     me     twenty 

years " 


42  ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

And  twenty  years  went  by.     The  evening  sun 
With    level    rays    came    streaming    through    the 

blinds, 
And  lighted  up  long  pathways  through  the  room, 
And  floated  up  and  down  upon  the  wall 
Within  what  used  to  be  the  nursery. 
A  man  lay-  dying  with  the  dying  day. 
"  Ah !     read    me  —  read     the    Sermon    on    the 

Mount  !  '• 
His  daughter  read   it,  slowly,  solemnly, 
The  old  man  straining  hard  to  catch  each  word. 
Then,  falling  wearily  upon  the  bed, 
"  It  was  so  hard,"  he  cried,  "  so  very  hard  ! 
O  Father,  Father,  and  it  is  too  late  !  " 
A  ray  of  sunlight  stole  across  his  face, 
And  following  the  sunlight  came  a  smile  : 
"  Perhaps  it  may  be  easier  over  there." 


MY    SISTER    ELEANOR. 

Her  face  has  lost  its  girlish  bloom  ; 

Much  of  its  red  has  changed  to  white  ; 
And  yet  her  presence  in  the  room 

Makes  God's  own  sunshine  seem  more  bright 

She  cannot  jest,  as  bright  folks  do  ; 

She  has  no  clever  repartee  ; 
But  what  she  says  is  kind  and  true, 

And  somehow  that's  enough  for  me. 

She  has  no  trials  ;    she  alone ; 

And  so,  lest  nothing  should  distress  her. 
She  takes  our  troubles  for  her  own  : 

My  own  sweet  Eleanor,  God  bless  her  ! 


TO    H.    B.    W. 

Dear  friend,  to  us  the  way  seems  very  long 
Before  we  join  thee  in  thy  distant  home ; 
A  weary  way,  and  rough  the  road  and  steep  ; 
And  as  we  battle  through  this  lonely  world, 
We  miss  thy  loving  words  of  sympathy. 

To  thee,  a  dweller  in  the  halls  of  God, 
Years  are  unheeded,  decades  count  for  naught ; 
Yet  thou  hast  scarcely  been  assigned  thy  place 
Ere  thou  art  restless  in  thy  new-found  bliss  ; 
Thy  thoughts  are  with  thy  dear  ones  far  away ; 
Thou  lookest  back  across  the  stream  of  death, 
Watching  for  us  with  prayers  of  love  and  hope, 
And  wondering  where  thy  children  bide  so  long. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  45 

Not  long,  dear  friend,  as  Heaven  measures  time. 
Only  be  patient  for  a  little  while; 
Only  a  moment  bow  thy  head  in  prayer ; 
Only  a  moment,  and  we  follow  thee. 


MUSIC. 

The    pedant    scorns    blithe    songs    with    tender 

words, 
And  cares  for  naught  but  harmonizing  chords: 
The  genius  feels  the  warm  tear  seek  his  eye 
Because  he  hears  a  mother's  lullaby. 


A   VENETIAN   WALLFLOWER. 

Floating  along  a  quaint  Venetian  street, 
An  old,  old  woman,  laid  upon  the  shelf, 

I  felt  how  much  life's  bitter  mars  its  sweet. 
And  foolishly  kept  thinking  of  myself. 

While  vanquished  day  its  sunset  banner  furled, 
I  pondered  o'er  forgotten  hopes  and  fears, 

And  thought  perhaps  too  hardly  of  the  world, 
For    patience    does    not    always    grow    with 
years. 

High  on  the  right    there   towered    an    old  stone 
wall, 
Gay  with  a  century's  disregarded  growth. 


48  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Where  wallflowers  held  their  gaudy  festival, 
Some  red,  some  yellow,  and  some  tinged  with 
both. 

From    out   the     crumbling  stones,    with   flowers 
arrayed, 
A  little  window  could  my  course  command ; 
And  o'er  the  sill  smiled  a  Venetian  maid, 

And     leaned    her     pensive     head     upon    her 
hand. 

Her  softly  lustrous  hair  as  dark  as  night, 

Her  features  lighted  by  a  thoughtful  smile  ; 
She    turned     her     splendid     eyes     to    left     and 
right. 
And     hummed     an     old    Venetian      air     the 
while. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  49 

Her  brilliant  cheeks  and  red  lips  just  apart, 
Lit  by  the  low  sun's  slowly  dying  flame ; 

She  sat  so  still  she  seemed  a  work  of  art, 

With    old   gray    stone   and    wallflowers    for   a 
frame. 

She    saw    me,     and    she    seemed    to    know    my 
dower 

Of  grief  and  loneliness  and  selfish  woe, 
And  with  a  sudden  impulse  plucked  a  flower, 

And  tossed  it  to  me  as  I  passed  below. 

The    breeze     had     died     away.       The     blossom 

dropped, 

Fluttered,  and  wavered  :    it  was  falling  wide  ; 

A  tiny  zephyr  caught  it  up,  then  stopped. 

And  brought  the  flower  directly  to  my  side. 
4 


50  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS, 

I  feebly  waved  my  poor  old  wrinkled  hand  ; 

Her  pretty  features  lighted  up  at  this  : 
She  said  some  words  I  could  not  understand, 

And    laughed,   and   threw    me    down   a    little 
kiss. 

And  then  somehow  this   dark  world   grew  more 
bright ; 
And    I    could    see,  with    dim   eyes    strangely 
clear, 
How  grim  old  Time  can  smile  in  swiftest  flight, 
And  sombre  Fate  forget  to  be  severe. 

I  love  to  think  that  you  remember,  too, 
Sweet  girl,  so  far  away  across  the  sea ; 

And  while  I  wave  this  grateful  hand  to  you, 
Perhaps  you  throw  another  kiss  to  me. 


TO   HER   WHOM   I    LOVE. 

Madly  I  struggle  in  the  depths  of  night  ; 

My  knees  are  trembling  and  my  fingers  numb  ; 
Stumbling  and  fainting  in  the  desperate  fight, 

And  longing  for  the  help  that  will  not  come. 

Ah,  darling,  if  I  might  but  see  thy  face  ; 

If  I  could   only  hear  thy  sweet  voice  speak, 
Asking  my  help  in  this  forsaken  place  ; 

If  I  could  see  the  tear  upon  thy  cheek, 

Then  all  this  agony  would  pass  away. 

With  thee  beside  me  could  I  stoop  to  fear  ? 
I  would  not  dread  to  face  all  hell  at  bay  ; 

Hell  would  be  heaven  if  only  thou  wert  near. 


MOTHER. 

Yes,  now  I  look,  she  has  grown  old — 

I  never  noticed  till  to-day  : 
Her  hair  was  once  like  dull  red  gold  ; 

I  can't  believe  it's  turning  gray. 

And  oh,  her  sweet  voice  !     It  was  caught 
From  some  bright  angel  ere  her  birth ; 

And  every  time  she  sang,  it  brought 
Its  native  heaven  down  to  earth. 

When  I  was  settled  for  the  night, 
Out  of  my  bed  I  used  to  creep, 

And  say  I  couldn't  start  just  right 
Unless  she  sang  me  off  to  sleep. 


ELSIE   AND   OTHER  POEMS.  53 

When  angels,  through  the  moonHght  clear, 
Came   floating  by  on  snow-white  wing, 

They  used  to  stop  and  hover  near, 
To  hear  my  dear  old  mother  sing. 

She  had  no  rules,  no  style,  no   art. 

No  consciousness  nor  manner  fine  : 
Her  voice  came  straight  from  out  her  heart 

And  made  its  way  right  into  mine. 

I 

Just  now  her  voice  is  not  so  high  : 
She  says  it's  lost  its  old  sweet  tone. 

She  will  not  sing  when  folks  are  by  ; 
Only  to  me  when  we're  alone. 

Then,  when  she  breathes  those  old  songs  o'er, 
Soft  to  my  heart  of  hearts  they  creep  ; 


S4  ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS, 

I'm  in  my  little  bed  once  more, 
And  she  is  singing  me  to  sleep. 

I  feel  no  ghost  can  touch  me  here, 
No  pack  of  wolves,  nor  robber  band, 

While  mother's  song  is  in  my  ear, 
And  I  can  hold  her  dear  old  hand. 

Dear  mother,  when  these  poets  declare 
That  never  yet  was  love  so  true 

As  with  their  passion  to  compare, 
I  don't  believe  they  know,  do  you  ? 


AN    OLD    STORY. 

We  are  not  what  we  were,  my  friend  and  I. 

We  used  to  be  inseparably  joined, 

Like  two  young  pine-trees  growing  side  by  side 

Wliose  branches  are  so    closely  interlaced 

That  they  are  grown  dependent  each  on  each, 

And  either  would  look  marred  and  incomplete, 

If  some  rude  hand  should  hew  the  other  down. 

Did  different  interests   tempt  us   different  ways  ? 

I  cannot  tell.       Somehow  we  grew  apart. 

And  now,  when  we  are  asked  if  we  are  friends, 

We  say,  *'  Oh,  yes  ;  "  and  if  you   press  us  home. 

Perhaps  we  say  we  are  not  what  we  were. 

But  if  you  ask  us  how  it  came  about. 

We  shake  our  heads,  for  neither  of  us  knows. 


THE    MIRROR    OF   A    SOUL. 

My  love  is  like  the  midnight  ocean  yonder, 
Reflecting  every  star  that  shines  above  : 

No  thought  that  into  thy  pure  soul  doth  wander 
But  adds  another  glory  to  my  love. 


NIGHT. 

Night  in  her  sable  mantle  clothes  the  world, 

And  folds  it  closely  to  her  loving  breast. 
The  gayly  painted  sunset  flag  is  furled, 

Its  last  tint  faded  from  the  darkening  west. 
Past  is  the  tumult  of  the  busy  day, 

And  labor's  ever-fretful  voice  is  dumb  ; 
Anxieties  grow  dim  and  fade  away, 

And    God    seems    nearer  now  that  night    has 
come. 


THE    MAN   WHO   HESITATES    IS    LOST. 

Slowly  I  muse,  as  I  sit  by  the  fire, 

Watching  the  pale  embers'  flittering  light  ; 

Watching  the  flames  waver,  lower  and  higher. 
Wondering  whom  I  shall  call  on  to-night. 

Shall  it  be  Fanny,  so  happy  and  merry, 

Always  on  deck,  with  a  smile  on  her  face, 

Saying  "  You  was  "  (ungrammatical,  very), 
Pretty  lips  moving  as  though  in  a  race  ? 

How  about  Ellen,  so  sober  and  stately. 
Smiling  a  little,  not  laughing  aloud  ; 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  59 

Straight  as  a  reed  ;  she's  grown  handsome,  too, 
lately  ; 
Not  feeling  quite  at  her  ease  in  a  crowd  ? 

Shall  it  be  Fanny  or  Ellen?     Still  thinking, 
Musing  I  sit,  rapt  in  revery  deep  : 

Slowly  I  nod,  and  my  eyes  begin  blinking — 
Fanny — and  Ellen — Adieu  ! — I'm  asleep  ! 


MY   AMBUSH. 

I  HAVE  prepared  an  ambush  for  my  love. 
Before  she  left  the  house  to  walk  abroad, 
I  stole  before  her  through  the  dreamy  woods, 
And  gave  my  orders  to  my  trusty  friends. 
And  even  now  they  lie  in  wait  for  her. 

See  how  she  loiters  down  the  forest  path, 
Making  a  perfect  day  more  perfect  still — 
No  wonder  that  the  trees  are  beckoning  I 
Faintly  I  see  her  dress  of  lightest  blue, 
Appearing,  disappearing,  through  the  green — 
Anon  she  wanders  off  and  out  of  sight. 

And  now,  when  she  is  deep  amongst  the  trees, 
Lost  in  the  silent  heaven  of  the  woods, 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  6 1 

The  viewless  winds  will  be  my  messengers  ; 
The  busy  brooks  will  be  my  advocates  ; 
The  idle  stones,  half  buried  in  the  moss, 
Will  tell  her  stories  of  love's  endlessness  ; 
The  still,  sad  lake,  hemmed  in   by  hostile  trees, 
Will  say  how  deep  and  pure  is  love  restrained ; 
Even  the  silent  moon  will  plead  for  me. 
Seen  through  the  swaying  summits  of  the  trees, 
Floating  all  white  before  the  sun  goes  down  ; 
Mindful  of  how  I  love  it,  mindful  how 
I  threw  it  kisses  when  I  was  a  child. 

Then,  when  I  see  her  coming  back  again, 
I  shall  advance,  and  take  her  honest  hand, 
And  look  into  her  never  lying  eyes, 
And  ask  her  what  the  woods    have  said  to  her. 


TO   ONE   WHO   THINKS   SHE    LOVES    ME 
NOT. 

Eleanor,  you  are  mine.     Even  when  you  said 

You  did  not  love  me,  yet  you  must  have  known 
Of  something  then,  now,  after  we  are  dead, 

That  makes  us  stand  together  and  alone. 
Slowly,  resistlessly,  against  your  will. 

Some  power,  some  law,  some  destiny  divine 
Is  working  on  your  heart  of    hearts   until 

You   see,  as  I  can  see,   that  you  are  mine. 

Eleanor,  you  are  mine.     I  have  no  choice : 
It  is  not  what  I  hear  or  what  I  see  : 

I  do  not  love  your  hair,  your  eyes,  your  voice  : 
I  simply  feel  your  soul  was  made  for  me. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  63 

I  know  of  other  women  fairer  far, 

And     far     more     wise,    to     whom     I     might 
incline  : 
I  care  not  how  they  look  or  what  they  are, 

Whate'er  they  are,  I  know  that  you  are  mine. 

Eleanor,  you  are  mine.     Try  o'er  and  o'er 

To    break    the    chain    that    draws    us    every 
hour  ! 
The  nearer  that  we  come,  we  feel  it  more. 

And  even  you  must  yield  to  such  a  power. 
I  know,  alas,  that  I  am  not  above 

Others  in  charm  ;  I  have  no  manners  fine  ; 
I  only  have  a  heart  brimful  of  love  ; 

Come  to  it,  Eleanor,  for  you  are  mine. 


EXPRESS   AND   ACCOMMODATION. 

Splendid  !      Remarkable !      Good    Lord !     Why, 
bless 

My  soul,  but  there's  the  Limited  Express  ! 
Nothing  but  parlor  cars,  I've  heard  them  say. 
Such   speed  !     It  fairly  takes  my  breath  away  ! 
With  screeching  whistle,  conscious  of  its  power  ; 
Heavens !     It's  going  sixty  miles  an  hour  ! 
It  must  keep  up  to  schedule  time,  you  see  ; 
Of  course  it  can't  stop  here  for  you  and  me. 

Well,  here's  a  funny  contrast  !     Oh,  I  vow  ! 
Just  turn  around  and  see  what's  coming  now  ! 
After  that  fast  express,   what  a  sensation 
I'd  see  this  tired-out  accommodation  ! 


ELSIE   AND   OTHER  POEMS.  65 

Shaky  and  old  and  marvellously  plain — 
Conductors  can't  feel  proud  of  such  a  train. 
These    queer    old    cars — By    Jove,    it's    slowing 

down  ; 
The  very  thing  to  carry  us  in  town  ! 

Do    you    know    Lee?      Just    now    he's    all    the 

craze  ; 
His  splendid  books  have  set  the  town  ablaze. 
His  talents  and  his  thoughts  are  not  confined 
To  any  few:  he  works  for  humankind. 
And    then    his    face,    his     strength,    his    manly 

carriage  ; 
It's  funny  that  he's  never  thought  of  marriage  ! 
You've    never    met  ?      Well,    meet    him    if    you 

can  ; 

You  never  did  see  such  a  splendid  man. 
5 


66  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

A  man  ?     A  genius  !     Half  a  deity  ! 

Of     course     he     hasn't     time     for     folks      like 

me. 
I  bored  him  once  when  I  was  out  of  work  : 
He  couldn't  help  me — didn't  like  to  shirk, 
But  he  was  busy  then — a  thousand  pities  ! — 
Writing  upon  the  "  Unemployed  in  Cities." 

Rogers  is  just  the  opposite,  you  know ; 

He's  wild  to  look  at ;  wasn't  made  for  show ; 

And  absent-minded — only  got  one  eye — 

People  are  apt  to  smile  when  he  goes  by. 

He  says  himself  he's  rather  old  for  use. 

And  queer,  without  the  genius's  excuse. 

He  does  strange  things  !     That  year  that  father 

died, 
And  creditors  would  not  be  satisfied, 


ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS.  67 

He  brought  a  check — wanted  it  understood 
He  didn't  give  it,  but  the  neighborhood. 
Well,  when  to  thank  the  neighborhood  I  went, 
I  found  he'd  given  ninety-nine  per  cent. 
He's  strange,  but  then  from  all  that  I  can  hear 
God's  prophets  always  did  seem  sort  of  queer  ; 
And    though    perhaps    that    Hebrew   grade   was 

higher, 
I'd  sooner  see  him  round  than  Jeremiah. 


TO   AN    UNNOTICED    LADY. 

I  DID  not  bow  when  we  two  met 

Last  evening  at  the  Somerset  : 

I  turned  my  stupid  back,  nor  knew 
That  you  were  hidden  from  my  view. 

I'm  overwhelmed  with  deep  regret. 

My  heart  was  sad  ;    my  feet  were  wet  : 
I  felt  the  need  of  friends,  and  yet 

When  passing  by  a  friend  so  true, 
I  did  not  bow. 

Foolish  it  is  for  me  to  fret 

At  what  you  doubtless  have  not  let 


ELSIE  AND    OTHER  POEMS.  69 

Be  any  source  of  grief  to  you. 
Perhaps  I  needn't  feel  so  blue. 
May  I  not  hope  that  you'll  forget 
I  did  not  bow  ? 


ENGAGED. 

I  AM  engaged.     My  heart  no  more 
On  random  wings  of  love  must  soar  ; 
But,  firmly  fettered  to  one  spot, 
It  must  not  move  a  single  jot. 
It's  just  a  trifle  of  a  bore. 

Sweet  other  girls  whom  I  adore, 
I  must  not  love  you  as  of  yore, 

For,  though  you  are  a  charming  lot, 
I  am  engaged. 

Was  I  not  happier  before 

That  day  I  knelt  upon  the  floor? 


ELSIE   AND   OTHER  POEMS,  /I 

Nay,  backward  glances  profit  not  : 
I've  asked  for  one,  and  one  I've  got  : 
I  cannot  ask  for  three  or  four  ; 
I  am  engaged. 


WAITING. 

Wrapt  in  the  vestibule's  dim  light 
I  stand — these  servants  are  so  slow  ! 

I  wonder  if  she  knows  to-night 
That  she  must  answer  yes  or  no. 

I  hardly  think  I  ought  to  speak  : 
I  can't  suppose  she  cares  for  me  ; 

But  then,  those  words  she  said  last  week ! 
Well,  in  five  minutes  we  shall  see. 

I  hear  a  step  along  the  floor  : 
I  rather  wish  I  hadn't  come  ! 

Too  late !     A  hand  is  on  the  door  : 
It  opens  :  "Is  Miss  Grace  at  home?" 


ELSIE   AND   THE   OCEAN. 

Here  in  the  window-seat  am  I, 

The  place  where  I  most  love  to  be, 

And  sometimes   put  my  sewing  by, 

And  watch  my  old,  old  friend,  the  Sea. 

When  once  I  left  the  Sea  to  go 

Where  through   sweet  vales  cool  rivers  wind, 
I  felt  a  ceaseless  lack,  as  though 

My  dearest  friend  were  left  behind. 

I  stayed,  but  stayed  against  my  will 
By  lake  and  river,  hill  and  glen  ; 

I  could  not  be  at  peace  until 

I  journeyed  toward  the  Sea  again. 


74  ELSIE  AND    OTHER   POEMS. 

And  when  it  burst  upon  my  view, 
Beyond  the  peaceful  plain  below, 

That  ever-changing  reach  of  blue, 
I  cried  for  joy,  I  loved  it  so  ! 

The  merchant  packs  up  bale  and  sack, 
And  trusts  them  to  my  friend  the   Sea  : 

It  bears  them  off  upon  its  back, 
And  brings  home  profits  gallantly. 

Or,  if  it  drowns  some  hapless  bark, 

If,  rising  'neath  the  wind's  fierce  breath, 

And  hooded  by  the  storm-clouds  dark, 
It  flings  the  sailors  to  their  death, 

Then  it  laments  its  sad  success, 
When  hungry  waves  are  satisfied. 


ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS,  75 

Regrets  its  angry  heartlessness, 

And  grandly  mourns  for  those  that  died. 

Dear  Ocean,  sorrow  without  end 

Is  in  your  mighty  soul  confined  : 
Will  you  not  tell  your  little  friend  ? 

Who  knows  but  it  might  ease  your  mind  ? 

The  gloomy  Ocean  does  not  say  ; 

It  will  not  stop  to  talk  with  me ; 
But  murmurs  softly  all  the  day, 

I  wonder  what  its  grief  can  be  ! 


AFTER  THE   FIRST    SNOW. 

The  sullen  world  of  dust  and  dirt  and   stone 

Is  brightened  by  the  snowstorm's  simple  art, 
Like    one    that's    dead,    whose   very   faults    are 
strewn 
With    pure,    pure    love   from   out   a   mother's 
heart. 


A    RESOLUTION. 

I  AM  a  coward  :    nothing  is  so  weak, 

So  beggarly,  or  so  contemptible 

But  I  have  feared  it  ;    aye,  and   fear  it  yet, 

When  Memory  lays  her  shadowy  colors  on, 

And  madly  paints  it  in  heroic  size. 

The  salt  of  fear  has  tainted  Life's  repast. 

And    not    one   sweetmeat    can   taste    sweet   to 

me  : 
The    mist    of    fear    has    dimmed    Life's   spec- 
tacles, 
And  how  can  I  distinguish  right  from  wrong? 
The  wall  of  fear  has  compassed  me  around. 
And  Honor  waits  for  me  and  waits  in  vain. 


78  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Oh,  I  am  sick  to  death  of  bitter  fear  ! 

By  all  that  breathes,  I  will    not  fear  again  ! 

Devil  or  man,  I  will  not  fear  again  ! 

Though  Satan's  self  and  all  the  powers  of  Hell 

Come  storming  round  me  till  the  air  is  black, 

By  Heaven  I  will  not  yield  one  foot  of  ground  ! 

Though  all  the  world  call  curses  on  my  head, 

And  every  curse  be  bitterly  deserved, 

I  fear  not  curse  nor  hate  nor  right  nor  wrong  ! 

Much  have  I  sinned,  and  I  shall  sin  again  : 
I  shall  deceive  and  lie  and  think  base  thoughts 
And  do  base  deeds  and  slander  righteous   men  ; 
But  as  there  is  a  God  in  Heaven  above, 
And  as  there  is  an  earth  and  sea  and  sky, 
I  will  not  fear  :    I  will  not  be  afraid  : 
Though  I  should  die,  I  will  not  fear  again  ! 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS. 

Once,  when  my  soul  was  dull  and  closed  and 
grim, 
And   I   was    tired    of    stern    Life's   endless 

fray, 
I     met    that     man    who     died    the     other 
day. 
And,  as  he  spoke,  I  felt  through  every  limb 
He  was  my  master.      From  the  horizon  dim 
Bidding    me    come,    and    pointing   out    the 

way, 
His  spirit  called  :    my  spirit  must  obey. 
You     must     be     noble    while     you    are     with 
him. 


80  ELSIE  AND    OTHER  POEMS. 

As    some    poor    wretch    from    fortune's    lowest 
lurch, 
Limping  with  downcast    eyes   through    scorn- 
ful crowds, 
Watching  the  gutter  water  ripple  by, 
Comes  suddenly  upon  a  stately  church 

With  lofty  spire  pointing  toward  the  clouds, 
And  finds  that  he  is  gazing  at  the  sky. 


A   CLERK   IN   A    BANK. 

Months  loiter  past  and  long  years  die  away 
While  he  divides,  subtracts,  and  multiplies. 
Or  looks  about  to  rest  his  patient  eyes  : 

For  sixteen  years  he  has  not  missed  a  day. 

Oh  what  a  blank  monotony  is  his  ! 

How  can  he  bear  to  copy  page  on  page, 
While  yesterday  seems  like  some  bygone  age, 

And  hours  go  creeping  past  like  centuries ! 

And  yet,  tired  as  he  is,  I  envy   him  ; 

Although  each  day  is  like  the   next  and  last, 

Although  he  has  no  present  and  no  past, 

Though  brain  is  stupefied  and  eyes  are  dim. 
6 


82  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

For  he  who  does  his  duty  is  divine  ; 

And  this  man  does  it  quietly  each  day  ; 

His  work  is  perfect  in  its  humble  way  ; 
And  I — I  cannot  say  the  same  of  mine. 


MY    FELLOW-TRAVELLER. 

I    KNOW    a     man  ;     and    know    him     to     my 

cost  ; 
God  never  manufactured  such  a  man  : 
A  crafty,  foul-mouthed,  lying  hypocrite, 
Whose  washed-out  virtues  make  you  hate  him 

more. 
I  pass  him  ;  and  I  quickly  shut  my  eyes 
As  if  I  passed  some  vile  deformity. 
I      pass    him ;    and     I      haste     to     hold     my 

breath 
As  if   I  passed  some  rotting  carrion. 
I  cannot  think  of  him  without  a  curse. 
I  hate  him,  and  I  wish  he  was  in   Hell. 


N 


84  ELSIE   AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

Such  were  my  thoughts,  when,  spent  with  angry 

toil, 
I  flung  myself  upon  my  midnight  bed, 
And    wished    that    sleep    might     never    have    an 

end. 
But  other  feelings  came  when  in  the  East 
The  pale  gray  clouds   had  changed   to    burning 

gold, 
And,  little  messengers  from  God  to  man, 
Light-hearted  sunbeams  burst  into  the  room, 
And     made     my     eastern      window     look     like 

Heaven. 

I  hate  him  ?     Who  am  I  that  I  should   hate  ? 
What  have  I  done  to  raise  me  up  so  high 
As  to  pass  sentence  on  my  fellow-men  ? 
I  never  had  a  doubt  that  God  loved  me. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  8$ 

How  arrogant  of  me  to  hate  this  man 
Ten  million  times  more  near  to  equal  me 
Than  I  can  ever  come  to  equal  God  ! 

We    must    look    much     the    same    to     one    like 

God: 
Two  disobedient  weaklings,  who  prefer 
To  feebly  quarrel  and  disdain  and  hate 
Than  to  clasp  hands  and  stand  up  side  by  side, 
And  recognize  that  we  in  one  respect 
Can  be  like  God,  that  even  we  can  love. 

How  can  I  dare  to   hate  my  fellow-man, 
And  all  .the  while  expect  his  Father,  God, 
To  make  no  difference  in  His  love  for  me, 
When  I  have  wished  one  of  His  sons  in  Hell  ? 
Suppose  that  God  should   take  to  hating  me  ! 


S6  ELSIE  AND    OTHER   POEMS. 

No,  no  !     I  cannot  bear  it  ! — This  poor  man 
Is  my  co-traveller  on  life's  miry  track. 
Mayhap  he  stumbles  even  more  than  I  : 
In  faith  he  has  a  somewhat  muddy  coat  ; 
But  I,  God's  love,  am  nothing  over-clean. 

I  hardly  care  to  touch  him. — Yet   I  hope 
That  God  will  never  cease  from  touching  me. 

Here,  Brother,  Fellow-Traveller,  here's  my  arm  ! 
Come,  lean  upon  it.     I  am  none  too  strong, 
But  better  thus  than   grovelling  in  the  mud. 
Tread  softly  here  ;    beware  yon  precipice  ! 
So  !    Lean  on  me  ! 

By  Heaven,  I  should  have  fallen 
But  for  that  saving  wrench  from  your  true  arm ! 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS.  8/ 

We  seem  to  travel  faster  than  we  did. 

Something  has  given   me  a  stouter  heart. 

This  warm,   fresh    current    stealing  through    my 

veins  : 
What  is  this  dawning  feeling  ?     Is  it  Love  ? 


ELSIE'S    FATHER. 

My  father — it's  no  use  to  fret, 

But  soon  my  patience  will  be  spent  ! 

He's  such  a  splendid  man,  and  yet 
They've  never  made  him  president. 

Jack  and  I  differed  some  time  back 
About  the  strongest  man,  or,  rather, 

The  greatest  fighter  living  :    Jack 
Said  Hercules  ;    but  I  said  Father. 

As  soon  as  war  had  well  begun, 

He  went  to  fight,  away  down  South. 

I  think  it  must  be  horrid  fun 

To  charge  into  a  cannon's  mouth  ! 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  89 

But  he  has  such  a  noble  air 
That  folks  are  eager  to  obey  : 

I  think  I'd  go  most  anywhere, 

If  he  was  there  to  lead  the  way. 

I  told  him  so  the  other  day. 

He  said,  if  Elsie  with  her  gun 
And  cannon  burst  into  the  fray, 

He  thought  the  enemy  would  run. 

Mother  is  nice,  with  lots  to  spare  ; 

But  so  is  he  ;    and  he  has  such 
A  way  of  smoothing  down  your  hair, 

He  seems  to  like  you  awfully  much  ! 


He's  Mother's  sweetheart,  true  and  bold, 
He  was  mine  too — a  great  while  since 


QO  ELSIE   AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

But — I  don't  know — he's  sort  of  old 
And  bald  to  be  a  Fairy  Prince. 

Now,  Mother,  Father's  poem  is  done. 
I'll  only  add  this  postscript  : 

He  is 
Nicest  of  all  except  just  one, 

And  just  about  as  nice  as  she  is. 


SUNSET   ACROSS  THE   ICE. 

Across  the  heaven  of  the  setting  sun 
A  figure  passes  with  a  smile   and  nod, 

As    some    dark    vision    through    a   prayer    might 
run, 
And  tempt  the  foolish  soul  away  from  God. 


TO   MARGARET. 

If  I  wanted  a  regular  heroine 

Who  wandered  about  in  shady  dells, 
And  pined  until  she  was  terribly  thin, 

I'd  probably  go  to  somebody  else  : 
If  I  wanted  a  soul  as  open  as  day, 

Whose  feelings  I  couldn't  misconstrue, 
Whose  friendship  was  more   in  the  "  do  "  than 
the  "say," 

There  isn't  a  doubt  but  I'd  come  to  you. 

If  I  wanted  a  creature  without  an  opinion. 
And  never  a  thought  in  her  cerebral   cells. 

With  an  amiable  smile  and  an  accent  Virginian, 
I'd  probably  go  to  somebody  else: 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  93 

If  I  wanted  some  one  more  solid  than  such, 
Whose     critical     dictums     were     far     from 
few, 

Who'd  tell  me    my  faults — a    trifle    too    much. 
There  isn't  a  doXibt  but  I'd  come  to  you. 

If  I  wanted  a  girl  who  was  always  pleased, 

Whose  glances  were  sweet  as  caramels, 
Who'd  pity  me  every  time  I  sneezed, 
I'd  probably  go  to  somebody  else  : 
If  I  wanted  a  person  of  sense  and  nerve. 
Who'd  sympathize  somewhat   as  stern    par- 
ents do. 
Not   a    particle    more    than     I    seemed    to    de- 
serve, 
There     isn't     a    doubt     but    I'd     come    to 
you. 


94  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

ENVOY. 

My  dear,  if  I  wanted  one  of  the  belles, 
I'd  probably  go  to  somebody  else  : 
If  I  wanted  a  friend,  and  the  best  I  knew. 
There  isn't  a  doubt  but  I'd  come  to  you. 


THE   YOUNG   MOTHER. 

Only  two  years  since  that  September  day 
When    Phil    and    I.    with    hearts    like   buds   in 

spring, 
Came  wandering  down  the  avenue  of  elms, 
Full  of  each  other's  presence,  half  alarmed. 
Silent,  or  else  not  knowing  what  we  said. 
Quick    with    the    sense  that  something  was  at 

hand, 
Dreading  to  look  each  other  in  the  face. 
In     Heaven     because     we     felt     each     other 

near, 
Loving  and  loved,  and  Phil  afraid  to  speak 
Because  he  feared  my  answer,   foolish  boy  ! 


9^  ELSIE  AND    OTHER   POEMS. 

I  am  so  glad  we  named  the  baby  Phil, 
For  now,  when  Phil  has  left  me  for  the  day, 
I  can  tell  all  my  thoughts  to  little  Phil, 
His  father's  stalwart  representative. 
As  if  he  were  his  father  ;  and  he  smiles. 
And  laughs,  and    sometimes    screams  from  sym- 
pathy ; 
Or  else  I  sing  to  him.     And   so  we  make 
The    time    seem    short    till     Phil    comes    home 
again. 

What,  darling  !     Are  your  little  eyes  awake  ? 
For    shame !      They    know    they    ought    to    be 

asleep  ! 
Come,  dearest,  leave  that  sleepless  little  crib, 
And  rest  within  your  foolish  mother's  arms. 
Listen  ! 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  97 

What  shall  my  little  darling  be  ? 

Perhaps  with  conquering  flag  unfurled 
From  victory  to  victory 

He'll  lead  great  armies  round  the  world. 
But  do  not  hate  the  foe,  my  dear, 

Nor  frown  as  you  are  frowning  now  : 
I  will  not  tell  you  not  to  fear  : 

I  think  Phil's  son  would  not  know  how. 

What  shall  my  little  darling  be  ? 

Perhaps  along  some  hostile  shore, 
With  saucy  pennant   floating  free, 

He'll  sail  a  stately  man-of-war. 
Then,  dearest,  when   the  shells  fly  fast, 

Never  give  in  to  fortune's  frown  ; 

But  nail  your  colors  to  the  mast 

And  fight  until  one  ship  goes  down. 
7 


98  ELSIE  AND   OTHER   POEMS. 

What  shall  my  little  darling  be  ? 

Perhaps  with  firm  controlling  hand 
He'll  guide  our  country's  destiny, 

The  greatest  statesman  of  the  land. 
Oh,  dearest,  do  not  think  alone 

What  is  your  country's  interest  then 
But  guard  her  honor  like  your  own  : 

Nations  have  souls  as  well  as  men. 


What  shall  my  little  darling  be  ? 

Perhaps,   inspired  by  passion  deep. 
And — what  a  piece  of  villany  ! 

I  do  believe  he's  fast  asleep  ! 

A  human  soul  !     A  living,  breathing  man  ! 
And  how  am  I,  an  idle  scatterbrain, 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  99 

To   guide  him  right,  along  Ufe's  labyrinth  ? 
Poor  me  !     I  do  not  know  a  single  turn  ! 
"What  shall  my  little  darling  be?"  indeed! 
Statesman,  or  sailor  bold,  or   general  ? 
I   only   hope  he  proves  an  honest  man. 
Why,   the  idea  !     A  foolish  child  like  me 
To  be  a  mother  ! 

I  should  like  to  know 
How  much  there  is  in  this  heredity. 
He  has  my  nose  :    has  he  my  character  ? 
I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  all  my  faults 
Crouching     around     this     harmless      sleeping 

child 
Like  grinning  tigers  just  before  they  spring. 
Can  he  not   have  his  father's  qualities  ? 
His  noble  manliness,  his  love  of  truth, 


100  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

With  just  a  little  silliness  from  me, 
To    smooth    his    passage    through    this   stormy 
world  ? 

In  those  old  days  before  we  were  engaged, 
I  used  to  think  that  I  was  fond  of  Phil  ; 
But  that  thin  rivulet  of  calm  regard 
Was  nothing  to  this  moving  sea  of  love, 
Swallowing    me   up.     You    might    as    well    com- 
pare 
The  Mississippi  River  and  the  Charles. 

That  life  of  old  was  like  a  pleasant  dream, 
Real  enough  while  I  was  dreaming  it ; 
But  faded  now,  like  distant  scenery 
When  the  regretful  eyes  are  full  of  tears. 
I  scarcely  think  of  those  I   left  at  home. 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  '       '''  I'OI  '  ' 


I  have  not  thought  of    Father  all  to-day  ! 
My  love  flows  deep  :    alas,  I  sometimes  fear 
It  narrows  as  it  deepens.     Oh,  I  think 
My  spirit  is  too  small  !     Like  Phil's  new  barn, 
When  last  year's  harvest   proved  too  plenteous: 
It  will  not  hold  the  love  I  want  to  feel. 

What,  my  own  dearest,  waking  up  again  ? 


A    PLAIN    WORKING    MAN'S    IDEA    OF 
HEAVEN. 

"  We  know  we  are  not  worthy  of  Thy  love  : 
We    know,  we  know,  we    have    not   done  our 
best : 
But  when  Thou  takest  us  to  Thee   above. 
Rest,  rest,  dear  Father,  only  give  us  rest !  " 

Such  is  the  song  they  sing  :    I  cannot  bear  it ! 
All    men    must    sin  ;    but    no    man    needs   to 
shirk  : 
Show  me  some  noble  task  and  let  me  share  it  ! 
Work,    work,    dear     Father,    only     give     me 
work  ! 


ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS.  IO3 

Our    thoughts    of    Heaven    are    surely  wondrous 
-      odd. 

Just  sitting  still  and  praising  God  all  day  : 
That  would  be  hard    indeed  ;    for   praising    God 

Is  more  in  what  you  do  than  what   you  say. 

Poor  weary  weaklings!     Are  we  then  so  tired? 

Just    fit    to    blow    gold    trumpets     and    feel 
blest  ? 
To  sit  and  smile  and  dream  and  be  inspired  ? 

Can  one  life's  work  win  everlasting  rest? 

Oh  shame!   Shall  I  give  up  my  high  endeavor? 

Shall    I    pretend    my    store    of    strength     is 
gone? 
Shall  I  claim  peace  and  joy  and  bliss  forever, 

And  take  my  rest  while  God  goes  toiling  on  ? 


104  ELSIE  AND   OTHER  POEMS. 

Father,  what  future's  mine  I  cannot  tell  ; 

But  when  I  have  begun  my  life  anew, 
I  care   not  where,  in  Heaven,  or  Earth,  or  Hell, 

O  Father,  give  me  some  hard  work  to  do  ! 

Forward  along  the  road  that  He  has  given  ! 
We    cannot   stay  to    count  what    strength  we 
spend, 
Nor  stop  for  rest  in  any  idle  Heaven, 

For    God's   own  work    shall    never   have    an 
end ! 


(Tt* 


YB   (3769 


ivil91949 


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